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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880190">I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowercathy/pseuds/sunflowercathy'>sunflowercathy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dark Betty Cooper, F/M, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Neighbours AU, Writer Jughead Jones, bughead - Freeform, slowburn, they are both fucked up and hide it in different ways</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:55:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowercathy/pseuds/sunflowercathy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think you’re boring, Betty. The exact opposite, actually.” There was sunlight in her reaction, a bit of surprise. He loved the tinge of blush that bloomed on her face, knowing he’d made that happen. There was a whispered ‘thank you’, and about 5 seconds of intense eye contact. Jughead found it really difficult to shut up, or to look away from her.<br/>“In fact, I’ve made it my goal to figure you out, if you’d let me.”<br/>Her eyes widened slightly, the tone of her voice leaving behind the sing-song tone it constantly had for a lower, raspier one. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jughead. Other people have tried too. You might be disappointed.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, a mischievous half-smile on his lips.<br/>“I don’t think I will be.”<br/>____<br/>Jughead never lets anyone in - being open means being vulnerable, so he never shows weakness.He spends all his energy on seeming normal. But Betty - she surpasses him in every way. She has a persona manufactered to perfection, blonde and perky and so annoyingly nice all the time.<br/>But her eyes give her away.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my quarantined induced fever-dream about two idiots hiding their dark sides from the world and then meeting each other and realising they both found their match.<br/>It's either a horrible idea or a great one, not sure. Let me know with a comment?<br/>As always, mini playlist for the chapter:<br/>nancy sinatra - bang bang (my baby shot me down)<br/>jorja smith - lost (frank ocean cover)<br/>sufjan stevens - mystery of love (*the song they were listening to)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jughead was no stranger to trying extremely hard to maintain a perfect image, a barrier behind the world and the real him hiding behind his skin.He had spent years sleeping in the trailer park, with an empty fridge, trudging his drunk dad up the stairs and into bed, picking up cigarette buds and empty beer cans from the bathroom floor. He had spent the same amount of time showing up to school consistently on time, clothes always clean, replying politely to teachers, denying any kind of help the school counselor hinted at during their “check-ups”. </p>
<p>He had hid behind vague answers and tight-lipped politeness and never let any outsider know the fabric of his reality, never shed a tear in open spaces, always screamed into the pillow late at night and punched his bedroom wall only when he knew there was no one to notice the bruises the next day. The only person who got remotely close to his truth was Archie, but never on purpose - the redhead learnt early on that Jughead’s boundaries were sacred, and so over the years he pieced together Jughead with what little he let out to him and only him, in hushed tones after midnight while Jughead had to stay over at his house for one reason or another (he later realised FP often kicked him out in his drunken rages). </p>
<p>This close-encounters, tight leash approach was carried with him after highschool, when he had finally saved up enough to move out, going off to college with Archie, pursuing an English degree on partial scholarship. If Archie and his dad wouldn’t have been there, no one would have even seen him graduate, or get his acceptance letter.He kept silent and counted down the days until he could fuck off, and never have to see that damned trailer park again. </p>
<p>All he took with him was his leather jacked and the bad habit of stress-smoking, the only thing his father taught him.He carried the hurt with himself like a cut that refused to leave a scar, more like a constant burning in the pit of his stomach, a rage simmering just beneath the surface. He felt it everywhere- everywhere he walked, when he would breath in deeper than usual, when he observed other families driving their kids to college and helping them move. He hated the brooding, weird outcast cliche, so he went into college doing what he knew best: maintaining a facade. He got an apartment with Archie,barely affording the rent, went to all the parties, using sarcasm and sardonic humor to create a persona, raised his hand in classes.Trying, desperately trying to give off the impression he was okay - normal,even. Normal enough for people not to pry into his life, into his past.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His neighbour, Betty Cooper, however, made him look like an amateur. She had moved in not long after them, maybe a few weeks, and Jughead had recognised her instantly from his town. Part of the Cooper family, Betty was the epitome of the perfect girl: straight A’s, sunshine blonde wrapped in pastels, on her way to becoming the promising journalist her mother molded her to be. He didn’t know much about her, they didn’t share any classes, but on the odd occasion their eyes would lock in the halls, the wind would get knocked out of his chest, and he knew, he just knew she was like him, and that if he were to look closer, she would crack like a china tea cup smashing on marble floors, fragile and spilling it’s otherwise invisible contents. But he never did more than observe, fascinated by the only other person in that school that was akin to him, imagining how she would look with her hair down, wearing black, a cigarette in a lipstick-red mouth.<br/>
He tried to forget all about her when he left town, certain they would never cross paths again,ignoring the tinge of regret he found deep inside, regret for never trying to get to know her.</p>
<p>Perhaps it would have been too dangerous, anyway. If he could smell the fake on her, she probably could do the same. But now here they were, neighbours, and Jughead didn’t know whether to be scared of inevitably running into her or secretly excited that he got a second chance to know her. For now he kept her distance, quickly going inside his apartment if he ever saw her entering the building, making sure not to stare too much when he came home and she was in the hall, checking her mail . He noted that she kept the same image she had cultivated back in riverdale. Jughead ignored the fact that she was just as beautiful, even more so now.</p>
<p>It was Wednesday night when Jughead got to officially meet his neighbour, not by his own accord. The ring bell had been making that annoying noise for almost two minutes when he bothered to leave the balcony, where he usually spent his evenings, and go and answer. He hadn’t ordered anything, and Archie had a key, so he opened the door with a scowl on his face.He prayed it wasn’t some charity, a thought of the single packet of ramen and the 10 dollars in his wallet looming in the back of his head. It wasn’t a stranger asking for money on the other side- it was a slightly frantic Betty, buttoned up in lavender and jeans and with no hair out of place, holding what looked like the end of a faucet in her right hand. Jughead raised a single eyebrow, waiting for her explanation, and hoped she wouldn’t remember him from high school. Because he certainly remembered her. </p>
<p>“Hi, sorry to disturb you. I moved here a few weeks ago but I don’t believe we’ve met yet.I’m Betty.”<br/>
Her introduction was said in the perfect, sweet-but-polite tone, and her left hand was raised to shake his. Jughead nodded, giving her a once-over, observing that the ends of her sleeves were soaking wet.<br/>
“Well, what can I do for you Betty?”He didn’t mean to sound annoyed, steering towards curious, but the tight lipped smile she returned indicated that she felt more and more embarrassed by the situation as time went on.</p>
<p>”Do you happen to know anything about plumbing? I think I might have broken my sink and the water won’t stop leaking and it’s too late to call anyone.I think my apartment is very close to becoming that scene în Tom&amp;Jerry where they flood the basement and make an ice rink out of it.”The phrase came out in a whole rapid breath, a tinge of desperation painted all over it.Jughead took a long look at her, the silence stretching between them.Her reference amused him, and the wet patches on her clothes made her story check out.</p>
<p>Jughead considered his options.He could say he has no idea how a sink works (he did,vaguely,having to often repair the shitty little one in their trailer).He could pretend he was just going out.He could be blunt and rude, say he wasn’t interested and shut the door in her face. But something about her eyes wouldn’t let him.He hoped some good karma would come out of helping Betty, literal impersonation of the  “girl-next-door”, because he was about to possibly make a big mistake and agree to help her.Just this once,though.</p>
<p>“Sure, I can take a look at it. I’m not sure I’ll be of any help though.”<br/>
“Oh, perfect, thank you very much.”<br/>
Her exclamation was punctuated with a cheerful grin and she clapped her hands together like a disney princess.He almost let out a sarcastic laugh, but regained himself at the last minute. They walked the short distance to her door, Betty chatting idly about the building and rent prices just to fill the silence, manners always being a priority. As soon as he walked in , his bad habit of observing and judging every piece of information someone revealed about themselves kicked in.If people failed to surprise him, they would fail to make him let his guard down.</p>
<p>The boy quickly concluded that either Betty cleaned up, knowing her charm wouldn’t fail to convince one of her neighbours to help her(why him,though?), or she lived a pristine life just as much in private as she seemed to do in public. Everything was neat, and few objects made the small apartment feel like it was lived in.A throw blanket on the spotless white couch, a turntable with a stack of vinyls underneath it, a huge bouquet of  red roses, in a crystal vase on the counter(gift from a boyfriend,perhaps?Jughead couldn’t stop himself from picturing a Ken type on her arm)</p>
<p>Candles burning on almost every surface he could see, a musky aroma, something like expensive men’s cologne. Not vanilla, or a flowery scent like he would have expected. The mood lighting coming from the dozen of candles made the atmosphere a bit too intimate for his liking - he was already regretting this.<br/>
“Come in , I’m sorry it’s not exactly guest-ready. The sink is the one in the kitchen.Can I get you anything?”<br/>
He shakes his head in disagreement, pulls up his sleeves and bends down to look under the sink, from where a puddle of water started to trickle all over the tiles, contained by a few pink bath towels. He stops the water source from the pipes running along the back wall, making sure it’s tightly shut, and then begins to inspect the place where the faucet should be. He has water all over his pants and there’s pretty sure there’s some webs in his hair, and he wonders if Betty really couldn’t have done this herself. Jughead has no clue why he’s here, or why he’s agreed to helping a random stranger (even though, deep inside, he knew his fascination with her in  high school didn’t qualify her as a stranger). </p>
<p>He feels Betty looking at him the whole time he works, trying to make the faucet work again without leaking. He’s acutely aware her eyes don’t leave him for a second, and that makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t like people taking too much interest in him. That’s why he struggles to appear normal,even boring, at all times.<br/>
“I might sound crazy, but I think I know who you are. I also realized I was very rude and forgot to ask for your name before dragging you here. Are you by any chance from Riverdale?I think we went to school together.” Betty says it very casually, apologetic about forgetting his name, but it makes Jughead stop in his tracks. He knew doing this was probably not a good idea. But he couldn’t have anticipated her remembering him, just because he remembered her.Why would she?</p>
<p>“Yeah, I did.My name is Jughead. We graduated in the same promotion.” He wiped his hands on a dry towel Betty offered him.<br/>
”Jughead,yes!I remember you.I saw you around the halls, you always used to wear that crown beanie.” </p>
<p>The boy winced at the remark, rolling his eyes at his younger self. He had stopped wearing that when he came to college - it was the only quirk he allowed himself growing up, a sort of security blanket. Of course that’s what she would remember about him. “You sent some pieces for the Blue and Gold.Excellent writing,quick wit. I used to be the editor of that paper.” </p>
<p>She had a prideful half small, and Jughead recognised himself in her slightly know-it-all attitude.Forcing his eyes to look away from her lips, he couldn’t help but smile at her compliment, trying to stop gloating in it too much. He didn’t expect that anyone remembered the essays he used to write for the paper.But she did.<br/>
“I know who you are, Betty Cooper.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, directly across from her, and studied her expression as he mentioned her last name. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he could trace some discomfort on her face, like she just got caught in a lie. “You were the golden child of the high school, the pride of Riverdale High. All around perfect student.”He hadn’t meant it as an insult, but the blonde shivered at the sound of the word perfect. Her smile didn’t falter though, nodding in  agreement.”You could say that was me.It’s so funny we never talked in high school, but ended up being neighbours.” She bent down to start gathering the towels piled up on the floor, and Jughead was acutely aware of the lines of her body, but he made sure not to be an asshole and stare . Being attracted to a girl that could probably see right through him and was also his neighbor was a recipe for disaster.</p>
<p> Wanting to avoid the subject of their high school past, and put some distance between them, Jughead put down the towel he was offered and started walking in the direction of the door. “So,uh, I stopped the water for now so it won’t leak anymore, but I think you need to have someone come in and replace the faucet.Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” Betty walked him to the door and leaned on the frame, hands in pockets like she was nervous for some reason or another.”Thank you, I really owe you one. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t answered. You should come over some day, I’ll buy pizza as a thank you. Not tomorrow though, because I have a journalism class and then I’m volunteering at a soup canteen.Maybe Friday?”</p>
<p>Her smile could easily have broken any guy in two if she put her mind to it, and yet there was innocence to it. Jughead had never met someone with a vibe as odd as her’s. She was cherry sweet and polite, yet every pore in her skin emanated power, and something magnetic. Of course she was a journalism major, and of course she spent her time volunteering. Her house was lick-off-the-floor clean and color coordinated, and you couldn’t see a flaw on her: not a button loose, a visible scar, a faded tattoo, a hair out of place. It irritated him, how she mastered an art he had been working at most of his life, the impression of perfect. If it had been anyone else but him, they would have been fooled. But her eyes still gave her away, just as they did when they were freshmen in highschool and he would scan the halls for her blonde ponytail. Something was going on beneath the painted exterior. </p>
<p>He had a twisted desire to find out what it was.<br/>
“Sure, can’t say no to pizza. I’ll be here.”<br/>
Betty nodded, satisfied with his response, and Jughead walked back to his apartment, blonde hair and crystal eyes still on his mind.<br/>
___________</p>
<p>Friday night rolled around, and Jughead seriously contemplated if he should forget the whole thing and start avoiding her in the hall again. When he mentioned their encounter to Archie he was met with a pat on the back and a “Congratulations on finally picking up a girl in college”, which made him roll his eyes and punch him in the shoulder. He wished it was that simple, but he had no interest in dating (dating meant being honest and sharing), and he hardly thought he could ever pull a girl like Betty anyway. She stood many leagues above him. Yet there he was, knocking on her door at 8 pm, not having set an hour prior, and hoping that maybe Betty would spare him and not be home at all. </p>
<p>To no luck, as soon the door was open and there she stood, looking painfully pretty in the light of the candles that were once again lit all over the apartment.”Jughead, hey. I wasn’t sure you were coming anymore, I had the pizza ready for an hour now.Come in .” </p>
<p>Jughead closed the door behind him and followed her to the couch.”Sorry,I wasn’t sure on the hours, so I thought 8 was reasonable.” He smiled and sat politely, with his hands in his lap, still a bit uncomfortable in the situation at hand. She was as beautiful as ever, but her guard was slightly down. Her hair was in a knot on top of her head, and her button downs were swatched for cotton shorts and a white tshirt. There was pizza on the coffee table and Jughead busied himself with it in order to suppress his sudden desire to know how her collarbones would feel under his fingers. There she went again, silently analyzing Jughead, making him sweat under his collar just from how intensely she looked at him, like she wanted to burn through him.</p>
<p>“So, you’re still writing? I heard you’re an English major. I think we might have a few classes together.” This time, the pizza wasn’t enough to hide his surprise. Where from, and more importantly why did she know his major, and that he was writing? In the way Betty smiled around the glass she was drinking from, Jughead understood that she did the same thing as he: she liked to have people figured out. That unnerved him, but it also brought a thrill to his stomach. “I actually met your roommate,Archie, earlier today. He was very nice, I remembered him from the football team.” Ah, so Archie was the one blabbing about him. Jughead made a mental note to smack him for that later.</p>
<p>“I’m writing here and there. English seemed like the rational choice. What about you?Is the model student reputation still intact?” His answer was kept vague and he watched as she shifted her legs under herself, keeping her posture straight (force of habit,probably), and tilting her head to think through her reply.<br/>
Jughead waited for a second of faltering, a glimpse of something vulnerable. There was none, just a reassuring smile. “Ah, I guess. I’m majoring in journalism and I’m on the college paper. I actually enjoy it very much.” </p>
<p>Betty got up and picked a vinyl from the neat pile on the floor, gracefully placed it on the turntable and hit play. The static of the record player sounded much like the static in Jughead’s head as he looked at her. She walked almost elegantly, and the way she carried herself left him in awe.It was cruel, how her skin looked under candlelight and how she bit her lip in concentration and she picked an album..The music laid over the room like silk, softening the edges of the atmosphere around them.“I hope you don’t mind.” The blonde pointed to the vinyl spinning and he raised his hands in disagreement. “I’m never opposed to listening to Sufjan Stevens , especially at night.”</p>
<p>She placed a hand on his shoulder, slightly leaning forward to support her weight on him, and grinned like a little excited kid. “I can’t believe you recognised it! Jughead, you just earned so many points in my eyes.” Jughead smiled shily, and he ran his hands through his hair, very aware that her hand was still on his shoulder, so warm it could’ve burn through his shirt. Her eyes were trained on his hands, and he rejoyed in the fact that he wasn’t the only one gawking at her. Come to think of it, this wasn’t the only time he caught her staring at his hands, and there was no information to be gained there. </p>
<p>They spent close to an hour eating the rest of the pizza and talking, and yet he was no closer to figuring her out. They talked about classes,books, their high school newspaper (he swore she noticed him quickly changing the subject), movies - but a tacit agreement between them kept looming over. No personal information. Jughead never mentioned his family, while she only mentioned that hers got along fine, and that her parents still owned the town’s paper. It was like a match of tennis - anytime he struck with a question mentioning her mother or how she managed to juggle so much during high school, she would revert it so easily and politely no one could have said a thing.</p>
<p> She tried to untangle him too, but she was met with a stern wall of avoidance and ironic remarks, dry humour that would turn serious topics into tropes for inside jokes ( he was pretty sure he said he had been raised by raccoons at some point). It was interesting, and in a sick way Jughead was enjoying himself, but he desperately wanted to point out he knew what she was doing, and that he was doing the same- they were dancing around each other, trying to make each other crack.<br/>
“Do you mind if I smoke?” He was ready to be met with disagreement from the girl who probably ran an anti-smoking campaign during highschool, yet she quickly nodded. “No, go ahead.”</p>
<p>The night air was chilly, making goosebumps appear on his skin. Compared to their balcony, hers was much neater: a string of fairy lights, a plant, pink-cushioned chairs. Jughead plopped down on one of them and pulled out a cigarette from his pack, keeping it in the corner of his mouth.Of all the new people Jughead had met so far in college, Betty was the only one who actually sparked his interest. The majority of his classmates, the people he met at parties -they were all bodies. All they would talk about was school and academic performance. The sense of competition Jughead felt was by no means healthy - everyone was friendly enough, but he could sense they all had ulterior motives, and wouldn’t abstain from stepping on his head if it got them where they wanted to be. </p>
<p>He felt a blanket being dropped on his shoulders , and he smiled back at Betty when she sat down across from him. He truly hadn’t met someone as ridiculously positive and attentive at all times, and it frustrated him. He felt as if deep down he really wanted to get to know her, but he just knew it was hopeless. Becoming close to someone meant breaking boundaries. Also, what Betty was giving him was what she probably gave the vast majority of people in her life: her extremely well crafted version of herself. She made sure he wasn’t cold, for crying out loud, like she read his mind about feeling chilly. “Do you want one?” Jughead pointed his pack at her, this gesture being the biggest act of kindness in his book.</p>
<p>‘Oh,no,thank you. I don’t really smoke, or drink. I’m kind of old-school and boring actually.” The blonde laughed, but Jughead just narrowed his eyes, analyzing her body language. She was lying. Either that, or his people radar was way off. But she was standing very close to him, the smoke blowing in her direction, and she showed no sign of discomfort or disgust like most people would have done. After he stopped to light his cigarette, he swore he could see her inhale deeply a couple of times.</p>
<p>“I don’t think you’re boring, Betty. The exact opposite, actually.” There was sunlight in her reaction, a bit of surprise. He loved the tinge of blush that bloomed on her face, knowing he’d made that happen. There was a whispered ‘thank you’, and about 5 seconds of intense eye contact. Jughead found it really difficult to shut up, or to look away from her.<br/>
“In fact, I’ve made it my goal to figure you out, if you’d let me.”</p>
<p>Her eyes widened slightly, the tone of her voice leaving behind the sing-song tone it constantly had for a lower, raspier one. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jughead. Other people have tried too. You might be disappointed.” In the dim light of the city below them, her words felt like a promise, playful in her attitude but serious in reality. She didn’t say no, he realised, and that’s all he needed. He exhaled a puff of smoke, a mischievous half-smile on his lips.<br/>
“I don’t think I will be.” </p>
<p>_________</p>
<p>It was later that night when they saw each other again. Well, Betty didn’t see him, but he did. It was late, even for Jughead, and he ended up falling asleep on his couch, in front of some X Files re-runs after getting home.He had left 3 hours later, apologizing for over-staying his welcome, and she had been the perfect host and denied it, saying she had nothing else planned and inviting him to come over for coffee any time. </p>
<p> Towards morning, what startled him from his sleep were voices, loudly singing in the hallway, some girls giggling. They got louder and louder, and Jughead tiptoed to his door, and used the peephole to look outside. A few college kids were stumbling around, failing at being quiet and shushing each other, 2 girls dressed up in sequins and high heels and a tall guy who looked annoyed at their antics. Jughead was about to walk away, assuming they would soon realise they had the wrong floor. A hunch stopped him. The third girl turned around to tell the others to be quiet. To his disbelief, it was Betty. But not really - it was Betty with her hair down, her fringe softly falling on her eyes. She had slightly smudged red lipstick, and the shortest black dress Jughead had ever seen. The blonde struggled to keep her balance on her high sandals while also looking for her keys in her purse. Jughead wondered if she was drunk too.Why didn’t she tell him she had plans so they could reschedule? </p>
<p> He knew this was kind of fucked up, spying on her like this. But he had to keep watching to make sure this wasn’t some fever dream. This confirmed his theories - she was lying to him, and her golden child appearance wasn’t the only side to her. She finally managed to find her keys, and the other two girls hugged her and then wolf whistled as they walked away, leaving her with the other guy. He could barely make out the details through the glass, but even like that, she was truly a vision in that dress. He watched as the guy walked in first, and she shut the door behind him. He ignored the tightness in his chest. Like him, Betty had a darkness too. </p>
<p>Like a car wreck, he couldn’t look away. He wanted more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I know I haven't updated in ages, but I decided I don't want to give up on this story.<br/>If anyone is even here, still reading, please let me know. This version of them draws me for some reason, and I hope it will draw you too. The next part will be the last. Hold on for me.</p><p>Mini playlist to listen for this one<br/>Visions of Gideon - Sufjan Stevens<br/>Neptune - Sleeping at last<br/>Matt Maeson&amp;Lana Del Rey - Hallucinogenics<br/>Jess Benko - A soulmate who wasn't meant to be</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
    
    
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been a week since the same routine kept repeating in  his life - every two nights or so he would hear Betty leaving her apartment, and sneaking back in at 4,or 5, or even 6 am. She wasn’t always with company,most of the time she was alone, but her secret night life seemed to come with a new persona - the few times Jughead allowed himself to be a creep and look outside, she was looking like a version of Betty that Alice Cooper wouldn’t have agreed with: there were always mini plaid skirts, dark makeup, bralettes and sweatpants.Her hair was almost always down, and from the tiny glimpses Jughead managed to get, he could read on her face her guard was down - there was no fake smile, just a pensiveness where all her thoughts could be visible in her expressions, no longer smothered down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t told anyone, not even Archie, about this discovery of his. He felt like it would violate something sacred, something she worked hard to keep hidden. He could not,however, manage to make himself let it go - he was curious, about all of it. Where did she disappear to in the middle of the night?Who was that dude she brought home? If she was so far away from the tyranny of Alice, why was she still hiding?</span>
  <span>Jughead figured the best approach was to confront her with what he knew, and somehow get her to trust him. Because he truly wanted to get to know her, and swap war stories with someone who was doing his act at such a higher lever, he got the wind knocked out of him.He set up a plan, and made a great part of it trying to ignore the fact that he was obviously attracted to her as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Friday, and he guessed Betty was going to go out again that night. He figured he could take l her offer of coming over for coffee “at any hour, seriously I don’t mind”  literally - so he waited until around 10, when he composed an innocent text. “Can’t sleep, been wondering if it’s appropriate to take you up on that coffee right now, in case you don’t have plans.J.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only after he had hit send did it occur to him that from outside this sounded exactly like he was texting her for sex, given the hour.But maybe Betty had a different imagination than him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wandered his apartment for a few minutes, waiting for her to respond, while Archie shot him a weird look from the kitchen. As time ticked by, he regretted it more and more. What was he getting himself into? She could probably read him like a book and embarrass him in the span of one conversation, if she really wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure! Come over.xx”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no turning back now - he muttered “Heading out” to Archie, being sure he’d have to deal with him later about it, and took a breath before knocking, his phone ringing right after.”I’m in the shower, the door is open.Be right out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was reluctant to enter her apartment when she wasn’t there, because he knew how it felt to have your privacy be violated, but he figured it was okay since she told him to. Nothing was majorly changed - the dozen of candles still made the atmosphere very intimate and too intense for what felt safe. There were a few more things scattered around, like she was a bit more comfortable with him, which made him smile. The sensible thing would probably be to sit down and wait politely - yet there he was, wandering around, looking at her things.He wasn’t the type to be nosey, so he refrained from actually investigating the way his twisted mind told him to - open a few cabinets, peer inside the various decorative boxes, look for discarded notes. He just wandered around, observing the tons of books in her bookshelf, noting they had similar taste - Kundera, Murakami, but also comfort crime reads he turned to as a teenager, like Du Maurier. The only item that felt truly personal was a photograph - easy to miss if you weren’t consciously observing your surroundings, yet still framed, meaning it had a certain value. At first glance, there was no doubting that it was beautiful - intimate, deeply intimate. A girl stood on a giant white bed, no frame, just the mattress, her bare naked back to the viewer. A few books scattered around the pillows,  empty bottles of wine and an ashtray where a headstand should have been. In the background, a bloody sunset that could be seen through the gigantic window in front of her. She was blonde, yet Jughead had a tough time telling if it was Betty - it could have easily been her, yet if his instinct about him served him right, she was way too guarded to have that photo on display for everyone to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe, she was picky about who she chose to bring home. His thoughts wandered to that boy he had seen in the hall. Which raised the question of what was Jughead doing here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, sorry I didn’t let you in. Some host I am.” Betty appeared from the hall, making him jump up from where he was standing, lost in thought. She was again in sweats, not quite perfectly put together, which he noted with a smile. When she was stripped down to the simple things, she was beautiful in an entirely new way. Her eyes glinted, and her smile let him know she was not thinking this was a way for Jughead to make a move on her. She simply welcomed him and ushered him to sit down..</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘I propose the late night coffee turns into Cabernet. Thoughts?’ She punctuated her words by jumping up from the couch and into the kitchen, making a wine bottle appear out of nowhere,along with two crystal glasses. Jughead was transfixed watching her - she left him with no space to protest, and yet he stood there smiling, nodding. He followed her and sat at the counter while she struggled for a bit to open the bottle, startling her when she turned around and found him there, studying her closely, a little smile in the corner of his mouth. ‘So, what happened to the boring,no-alcohol policy Betty?’ The tone was obviously friendly, just a bit of banter, but he knew what he was doing, and she did, too. He could tell. For a second, her expression faulted and she looked confused, a bit shocked. Not hurt, he hoped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She busied herself pouring the wine, obviously squirming under his eyes. He weirdly enjoyed it, seeing her lose guard for a second. The green in her eyes was darkened, throwing him an unreadable expression - like she was intrigued, but also careful. Jughead knew his pupils were probably blown out too, but for entirely different reasons - he already felt drunk on her presence, her proximity, the intimacy of hanging out there, in her home, late at night, in nothing but candlelight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Well, aren’t you observant.’ She quipped. Jughead wondered how he would feel if he saw her before him as he saw her those few times, late at night - if she was dressed up, this time for him, in leather garments and lace. He shook the thought out and clinked her glass with his, winking at her as charming as he could. ‘Oh, you have no idea.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This softened her, blooming into a full smile. They stood in the kitchen, on either side of the island, making easy banter about politics, books, their weird neighbour downstairs that fostered lizards. Jughead wouldn’t exactly call himself a lightweight, yet after Betty refilled his glass a second time, he could tell that warm buzz of the wine took over his brain .He now brought out the childhood stories of him and Archie getting into trouble, and managed to make her laugh loudly a few times, yet she was unfazed. Yes, her laughter was more colorful, Jughead finding himself get hooked on it, and she reached out more often to playfully slap his hand while joking, yet her composure was there. Before he knew it, they were on her couch, her legs sprawled over his lap, the empty bottle forgotten somewhere. He didn’t want to disrupt the magic of the moment, their closeness. Their eyes maintained a steady contact throughout, and there wasn’t a moment in which he caught her glance at a clock, or try to make him leave. Even moreso, the more time he spent giggling with her over stupid tv shows, dizzy on the red and her voice, the more he felt that dangerous urge he sometimes got, to open up about his life and traumas and get comfortable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a lull in the conversation,silent but not uncomfortable, and he realised his hand had been resting on her legs, fumbling with the material of her sweatpants. He looked over and found her lost in thought, eyes fixated on his hands and the contact between them. Their eyes met again - she smiled, a sleepy expression on her face. Could she tell that Jughead wanted to kiss her? Because he did, very much so. He could easily do so, leaning forward and running his fingers through her blonde curls. Betty licked her lips, as if she knew. As if she wanted it too, but she was also scared to open up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jughead moved his hands away and broke the moment - it was all ridiculous. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone, he promised he wouldn’t let anything distract him - and she was a different breed, the kind of girl that when you were in a relationship with, you really were </span>
  <em>
    <span>in a relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That didn’t mean,however,that he couldn’t try to know her, because his instinct told him there was something, something beneath the pastel exterior she put up, and he found himself at night falling asleep to the little glimpses he saw of the other her, in dark lipstick and leather, no matter how hard he tried to count sheep instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘That picture you  have framed over there.What’s,uh, the story of that?” He’s not sure if he’s going to strike a nerve, but the question seems innocent enough. It’s already late, and it’s probably a matter of time before Betty invokes an early morning or something,and politely kicks him out so her real night can begin. He can’t help pushing it, though. His eyes are the epitome of innocence ,and she looks up. There’s no anger, or distrust - just pensiveness, a slight reluctance, probably because there haven't been many people asking about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah, that. I was in high school there. Trying to prove a point to myself, you could say. I keep it as a reminder.’ There’s a sigh after that, and then silence,again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jughead almost couldn’t believe that the girl he knew in high school - so polite and sickly sweet, everyone’s favorite, with a mother famous for the reign of terror she kept over her children - was the one in that picture. He doesn’t have more courage, not enough to ask how she had ended up there, or who had taken it. He was probably going to think about it later, and get dizzy on the scenario of their younger high school selves together, of him being the one to take that picture of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘It’s beautiful’, is what he says, but he means ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, and it’s almost audible in his soft tone and eyes. She nods,mouthing a thank you, a little smile in the corner of her lips, and he hopes she knows what he had really meant. ‘Everytime we meet, I keep thinking I have a pretty good grasp on you. And yet somehow, I still can't read you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a scratch on the record player, and then it goes completely silent. Jughead is aware of every nerve in his body, and his tongue goes numb -he hadn’t realised how much wine there had been, and how his mouth tended to go along without him when he was dizzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Even though I want to,I can’t put my finger on you, I mean.’ He realises how it sounds the second it leaves him, and consequently cringes on the inside. He’s seconds away from excusing himself and leaving before he insults her, or says something even stupider -</span>
  <em>
    <span>I really want to get to know you because I think we are the same and also, I think about you all the time, before I go to sleep, when I wake up,and I feel like it’s gonna eat me alive -</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why would you want to do that?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t enough space between them, Jughead realised. In the last few minutes, they managed to somehow get even closer on the couch, so now Jughead could have leaned in just a few inches to close the space.  There wasn’t enough oxygen, and all he could see was the green of her eyes getting darker, hazier. She bit her lip in anticipation, like his words had meant something, like they had struck her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know, I just want to.’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he had meant, but not voiced, not even able to admit it to himself. Her expression changed,flustered and confused, and panic rose in him - was he being too straight-forward? Was he coming on too strong, pushing her boundaries too hard? He knew he had to say something to bring the intensity down, and re-establish the polite dance they had been performing. ‘I feel like we could be friends, I think. Maybe that’s why.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sweet smile she usually wore was back on her lips, all traces of previous turmoil erased. He could tell it hadn’t been what she expected, and wondered if perhaps she was waiting for him to make the first step and break this unspoken thing they had going on. ‘ We can be friends, sure.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tone was polite, but yet again, Jughead read it as fake. He watched her get up, adjust her record player to start again, and bring them their glasses refilled with wine, to his despair. More alcohol was not going to help this boundary issue, for sure. Jughead took his glass and tried to hide behind it the fact that he had just been staring at the stripe of exposed skin on her abdomen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘To new friends.’ She toasted and clinked her glass against his. Jughead figured she had no activities that night, and settled in for what was probably going to be a terrible headache in the morning. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t pull himself away from that couch, or from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>_____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The following weeks took Jughead through a whirlwind of emotion. Managing to avoid the deeper issues or any sort of real, personal details, him and Betty still were exceptionally synced- in their tastes in music,books and politics, in their sarcastic humor and witty banter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had spent more and more time together, both nocturnal people, listening to music and drinking wine well into the night, watching marathons of twin peaks, discussing what they were doing in classes and doing homework , a pot of coffee between them. It was almost always at Betty’s place, because Archie tended to have occasional female guests, and Jughead liked to make himself scarce. Their dinamic had evolved in this symbiotic, weird relationship, where they would text each other at all hours of the night, and everyone around them - Archie, his sister, whom he talked about Betty with, the other people in their shared class - they were all convinced they were dating. Which they weren’t, Jughead wouldn’t dream of it - yet he couldn’t label them as strictly friends. He chipped away at her tough exterior, and sometimes, late at night, when it was just the two of them , she would slip just a tiny bit, and he could tell - she would close her eyes and whisper something she’d remember about her parents before the divorce, when the yelling would keep her and her sister awake. But it was always followed by an attempt to make light of it, throw in a joke and change the subject.The next day she would greet him with a preppy voice, wearing a pink button up and a matching scrunchie, and he would feel defeated all over again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He liked what they had, he really did. Betty seemed to enjoy his company too, often being the one to invite him over under some pretext or other.And yet there were two things that loomed over them, consuming his thoughts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His desire to get to the ‘real’ her hadn’t lessened, on the contrary, it was even more acute, and he could tell there was a frustration growing in him. Every time it looked like she was about to give, and reveal it, she would step back.because he paid attention,there were little signs.Jughead was sure he could smell a faint aroma of weed in her house on a few occasions. She had let it slip once that wine was sort of new to her, joking-but-not-really about being more of a 'straight vodka' kind of gal.  He tried his best to not look through into the hallway whenever he heard noises in the early hours, yet the few times he allowed himself this weakness she was never alone or with friends, but rather with the same brunette boy who he had seen before, his hands always on her waist. There was almost no giveaway and Jughead wouldn’t have noticed had he not been looking for it - but there was a foreign lighter forgotten on the little table on the balcony, and a bottle of men’s cologne by the bathroom mirror. It looked like Betty had a boyfriend, one she didn’t want Jughead, her </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, knowing about. And as much as Jughead tried to bargain with himself in the long hours he spent in the campus library, he was jealous. Sure, he still maintained perfect grades, socialised as much as possible, made an effort to appear perfectly normal and boring while the usual current of unresolved trauma intruded his thoughts. But he found himself now often thinking about her with that man, and about how he had access to a part of Betty he didn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second thing made no sense in the context of her possible,potential boyfriend. There was a palpable, noticeable tension between them and he was almost sure he wasn’t crazy and imagining it. It was there mostly when it was late at night (he swore Betty used the candlelight and expensive red wine to drive him crazy). Betty would deliberately use the word friend around him, in such a way that made it sound sarcastic, like it was mocking them. It was a Friday night when Jughead noticed it and realised she had been doing it for days prior to that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why he was so highly strung on that particular night. Betty had her hair down, which was so rare he felt like it was privilege somehow, and had greeted him in a white men’s shirt that fitted more like a dress, which made it difficult for him to focus on the homework they were supposed to do tonight, long forgotten somewhere on the table. Maybe tonight was the night when Jughead had enough balls to be upfront about it and ask her. Maybe it was late enough and he would feel reckless enough to simply kiss her, and hope to know her fully like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he asked her if he could smoke, and she nodded and followed him outside, like she always did. He usually had his jacket around his shoulder and she would pull a cardigan over hers to fight the colder and colder nights, yet this time Jughead watched her unwrap a blanket and drape it over both of their shoulders, making them have to scoot closer together .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you ever felt like acting on a certain urge ,  even if you knew it was wrong?’ Her question hung in the air between them, and Jughead was acutely aware his eyes were fixed on her lips when he regained composure ,just enough to answer. ‘Yeah,constantly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nose was now red from the cold, which he found infuriatingly cute. Without realizing it, he reached over to drape more of the blanket over her. ‘And how do you make yourself stop, then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think about how if you would let me in, I would have to be vulnerable for you too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fear, I guess.’ He means to make it sound playful, but it comes out shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers hold the cigarette and tremble from the cold; he watches, mesmerized, as she leans forward. His heart stops in it’s track and for a second his brain is foggy, going </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes yes yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Betty tilts her head and takes a long drag out of his cigarette, her lips barely inches from his fingers. She inhales deeply and then exhales the smoke slowly, eyes closed like she had been waiting ages for it. Jughead can’t concentrate on anything else but her lips and how they almost touch his fingertips. When she is done, the blonde throws him an innocent look and smiles, in a way that makes Jughead ask no questions, and just nod, smiling back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they are back inside, Jughead counts it as a win, somehow. They are in the kitchen area, where Betty washes their glasses and he annoys her by sneaking popcorn directly from the bag - he’s racking his brain to find something to break the silence, because he finds himself drawn to her, his whole body a raw nerve,charged from that moment before. He can feel her glancing at him often, and he just knows she feels it too. He thinks about that boy from the hall. He thinks about touching her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘More wine,friend?’ Betty proposes, turning around towards him, voice dripping in something sarcastic, like she’s taunting him. Jughead snaps and get a random urge to jump over her balcony railing - the last thing he wants right now is to be her platonic, polite, meek friend. He takes half a step forward, making it so that her thighs are pushing into the counter and he’s blocking her from moving, not enough to be obvious, but enough to make them both aware of it. His hand reaches over her shoulder and grabs a bowl from the shelves. He turns his head towards the blonde, and speaks in a low rasp - an image of her in her leather jacket flashes before his eyes - ‘I don’t think that would be wise right now, do you.’ Their height difference stirs something in him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, obviously taken by surprise and flustered by his close presence. He sets the bowl down and rests his hand on the other side of her, so now she has no choice but to look him straight in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> ‘ Good,because I don’t want to do anything stupid.Like sudenly acting on an urge.’ he continues. He feels like in this moment,their bodies closer than they have ever been, her eyes tell him she’s the realest version of herself around him. They both sort of lean in into each other for what feels like the longest second in history, tilting their heads like they are about to kiss, but hesitating. His hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, lingering slightly on her face. He knows he has to break away right now, so Jughead forces himself to remember all the reasons this is a bad idea, how truly, deeply fucked up he is, but he's coming in a little short. Betty is holding her breath, her skin warm under his touch. If she would take the first step there he would have no choice but give in,but she doesn’t. They both hesitate and when he manages to step back, she sighs deeply, a sort of hurt written on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too close, way too damn close</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a while after that moment, he keeps his distance. More or less avoiding her, making various excuses to her invitations to hang out, on account of busy schedules, classes, tests. Archie asks him about it, used to his constant stream of rambling about Betty, but he just gruffs. After a third time, she gives up, and his heart sort of breaks anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he’s being honest, he’s scared. He’s afraid of how different she makes him feel, of how badly he wants to let it all pour out of him - his past, his insecurities, all the things he’s bottled up for years. He’s even more scared of how badly he wants to know her, truly know her. Of how much he wants to tell her they haven’t felt like just friends for a second. And even if he did, who could say she would want to have anything to do with him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all a giant headache, and so was the thought of having another exchange like the one they had last Friday, so Jughead had spent the week dodging her texts, and was determined to do so this Friday also, holed up in his room with homework difficult enough to hopefully distract him. He’s being an asshole, he knows he is. It’s obvious his excuses are blatant lies, and Betty is a smart girl. He’s aware of it, and when his phone buzzes he knows that it’s her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We need to talk. My place.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He complies, finding no more excuses to offer her - she had given him his friendship for the past months, and although he had seldom been completely honest with anyone, she was special enough to deserve it fully. Jughead doesn’t bother to knock, just comes into her apartment where he finds her pacing, startled by his sudden presence. He opens his mouth to talk, but she stops him, her words frantically falling one over another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘ I’m sorry to call you this late I just - I need to know what I did wrong. If you got sick of me or need space, like, permanently, I understand. I’m a lot, I know I am. I just need to know so I can like, stop trying. ‘ Her voice trembles, more troubled than he had ever seen her. ‘No, it’s not that.’ He tries to protest, but she continues going in circles, like her whole facade is breaking because she managed, despite all her efforts, to hurt someone, to not be perfect for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘ I was awful for not addressing what was obvious and pretending like we were these great friends but I - you are the first person in a long while I actually want to be around and can open myself to, so I just need to know, Jug.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jughead stops her from her frantic pacing and holds her hands in his. He’s frustrated at her for claiming she’s open to him -they both know it’s a lie - but also for being so beautiful, and so raw in front of him when he was trying his absolute best to respect her need for secrecy and obvious desire to not say anything about the tension that was created whenever they were in the same room. So he gives in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Betty, stop, you can stop pretending. I know, okay? I know.’  She freezes in front of him, completely, her face falling. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She pulls her hands back from his, and takes up a glacial tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jughead huffs in frustration,in disbelief about her still trying to deny it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes you do. You and I are the same, we hide shit because we’re too scared to be our real selves. I know you go out nightly looking like a whole different person, and I know you have a boyfriend, which is why I feel so fucking stupid for playing pretend and constantly wanting to kiss a girl who’s taken. I know it’s all an act.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She pushes back, almost yelling at him. ‘You think you have me all figured out, but you don’t. Don't project your shit on me, I'm not the one who is scared to be myself here’ The air around them is charged, and he knows he should back off, having passed the point of no return, and yet he keeps pressing, not knowing to do anything else when he feels hurt but bite back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me I’m wrong then. Tell me you haven’t felt this - whatever it is, between us. That you don’t have someone else, that everything you do from the minute you wake up isn’t playing pretend. Even around me. It's all bullshit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice falters on the last few words. He’s being a hypocrite, he knows -he does the exact same thing. And yet he’s angry, and the feeling scalds him in a hot liquid, and makes him lash out at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Betty refuses to look at him, and stares at the floor. It’s obvious there’s no more words between them, and so he turns around and goes back into his own apartment. That night, he hears her door being slammed shut, but he doesn’t get up to check, no matter how much he wants to.</span>
</p>
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